


A Deer Dance

by paperficwriter



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Charliesexual, Animalistic First Time, Burlesque, Deer Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Doe Charlie, F/M, In the Future When All is Hell, Pin Up Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperficwriter/pseuds/paperficwriter
Summary: Alastor is a deer demon, and while he's never been lonely, he's not going to say no to a little doe that seems as interested in him as he with her.
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

Living or dead, Alastor always did like to believe that he was one of a kind. The best of the best, and a step above the rest. And, in many ways, he was right; when he compared himself to other radio personalities, or home chefs, or, now, demon lords, that knowledge that he was better would add a skip in his step and the huge smile on his face. 

He wondered if that gap that remained open between him and everyone else was the reason why his appearance was so different here. He’d never seen another deer demon before. All of the other shapes of demonic beasts were represented, certainly. Wolves. Bears. Goats. God, so many goats, it had ruined any dish with meat or milk that he might come across. 

There were rumors of others, but perhaps his presence, his power, had sent them all into hiding.

That would make sense. Alastor didn’t particularly appreciate being shown up (and most denizens across the Nine Circles were more than aware of that). Just his average appearance - his dashing suit, the cloven prints of his shoes, the long fluffy tufts of his hair and his sharp-toothed grin - parted many a crowd, but in his true demonic form with its rack of horns and dead-eyed, sharp-toothed leer, most hoped to just survive the encounter.

But it was in his fairly casual shape that he went to Mimzy’s Club for a colorful event that she was hosting that particular evening. The Burlesque Revue had been all the talk across the city for several weeks before, something that was supposed to combine the lurid fantasies that were commonplace in this corner of Hell with something a little more artistic. 

“Listen, if there’s gonna be stripping, ain’t nobody gonna say no to that,” he had heard one demon say as they looked at the poster of one particularly long-legged dame with a boa around her shoulders. “If they wanna make it fancy, s’alright by me, just so long as they take it all off at the end, yeah?” 

There certainly wasn’t any proof that Alastor had set the unbearable dolt on fire. People combust all the time in Hell!

After all, the concept alone sounded entertaining enough for Alastor, that was for certain, but what really intrigued him the most was the rumor that the whole thing was being hosted to bring attention to some hospitality project being taken on by the Princess of Hell herself, Charlotte Magne. And if she was anything like the classical piece of art her mother Lilith was on stage, he did not want to miss this for anything.

Mimzy clearly had tried to doll up the place. There were fairy lights everywhere, and thick drapes of black and red velvet scooped down from each pillar along the edge of the club floor. An entire area had been elevated into a stage and that was littered with props and poles and bars. 

“Al!” Mimzy gushed as soon as he came in, rushing over to take both of his hands. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. These people are annoying the shit out of me. I forgot how the artsy crowd could be such a bunch of divas.”

“Mim, Mim, Mim,” he tutted, “I think you just described the entire population of the here-after. The artists just happen to have practice, don’t you know?”

They laughed about that, and then someone spoke up behind him, a young, sweet voice that was so different from the raucous roar he was used to that it was almost startling. “Hey, Mimzy, I’m so sorry to bother you. Can we get a little more light on stage left?”

“What do I look like, an electrician?” 

“No, but the electrician snuck into one of the dancer’s dressing rooms, and I’m pretty sure he won’t be waking up anytime soon.”

Mimzy sighed as Alastor turned to the source of the voice. “I’ll get right on it, Princess,” she groused before disappearing.

And there she was. The Heir to the Throne of Hell. What had Alastor been expecting? Someone dressed like Lucifer, probably, a mess of over-the-top vaudevillian aesthetic and an extremely untrustworthy face. And yet somehow, that horrible cretin had helped to birth the most beautiful creature Alastor had ever laid his eyes on. Even if it had just been the classy black dress, the diamonds in a cascading pattern down her neck, the silver apple tiara atop her blond hair styled in a gorgeous updo...all that would have been more than enough to catch Alastor’s attention, but then...

“Charlie. Please.” She said it like it was one of a thousand times she had insisted. And although Mimzy was already gone, her ears perked at Alastor.

Her slightly furry, tear-drop shaped ears, and a tail turned up behind her where the dress had been perfectly cut to let it out.

Another demon just like him. No, not just like him. A  _ doe.  _

“Well,” he greeted with a low bow. “I’m glad I won’t be making that mistake. I will never call you by a name that is not your preference, my dear.”

She giggled into her hand, covered by a long opera glove that matched the black of her dress. “I appreciate it. And you must be Alastor. Unless you prefer ‘the Radio Demon’?”

Oh, she was a quick one. Not that Alastor was ever good at flying under the radar. “I would prefer ‘yours,’ actually.”

That got an even darker blush from her already-rosy cheeks. Her tail twitched a little bit. “That’s a title that comes with many responsibilities, Alastor,” she said through a little smile, clearly trying to keep up with him.

“Where do I send my resume, darling, because I’m always looking for a job with better benefits.” 

“Well, you certainly know how to dress to impress.” Charlie bit her lip as she glanced at him up and down. Alastor knew when he was being sized up, and he let her take him in, knowing already that she was having the same response to him as he had to her.  _ You’re someone like me,  _ her eyes said.  _ After so long. _

“Maybe in this case,” he said quietly, stepping in close to her. “I should have left the suit at home. After all, you should dress for the job you want, shouldn’t you?”

Charlie leaned in. This close, he could see all the soft strands of fur on her ears, the pink inside. He wanted so, so much to touch them, but...not yet. There would be time and privacy for that yet. “I’d really like to continue this interview,” she whispered, “but as you can see I have a revue to oversee.”

“After, then,” he said, slipping her hand into his and cradling it. So small. Delicate. “I have a tower with an extremely quaint office overlooking the city. It’s quite comfortable, you’ll find.”

She nodded, voice breathless. “After.”

\---

Charlie let Alastor take her home. If anything, Alastor thought he noticed her speed up a bit through her acknowledgements and post-show credits, now and then glancing his way. Nobody else would notice, but he could see the way her tail was flashing, how she wanted to run.

Run to him, no less.

And she did, in the huge fluffy stole that she had worn on stage after her act when her dress had been taken off and then pulled back on only as a skirt, her pale skin just showing though her breasts were hidden. He had never driven himself faster back to his Radio Tower.

The only person down in the “lobby” was Husk, and he was playing a computerized slot machine that he had won in a game with Alastor (though to be fair, Alastor let him win, because otherwise he threatened to leave altogether, and one piece of infernal technology was payment enough for service he could count on).

“Don’t wait up, Husker-chum,” he said, Charlie on his arm.

“Why the fuck would I literally ever care what you are do...do...” He trailed off in that moment. Husk had looked up momentarily from the game, catching a glance at Charlie, and his mouth just stayed in that same ‘o’ until they were in the elevator. Then, as though realizing that the moment Charlie went upstairs with Alastor it would all be over, he fell over himself running toward the quickly-closing doors. “Hey, what’s the rush?!” he asked hastily. “Let’s hang out! The night’s young! We can get some drinks or hit a bar or--”   
  
Alastor snapped his fingers, and the doors refused to open, even as he hit the button. “I’m not always great with sharing,” he said as Charlie was quietly laughing into the fur around her neck.

“Good,” she said, dropping the wrap to the red floor. She stood before him now with nothing but diamonds from the waist up, blinking at him bashfully despite the fact that she was the one who had made this quite-forward, more-than-brazen move. In the mirrored wall of the elevator, he could see her tail, soft and twitching just so. Now, now he did reach out to caress it, to run his long fingers through it. She shivered and instinctively huddled close to him. “So what were you saying about your qualifications before?”

As much as he had planned to continue their little tete-a-tete, it was hard to manage at the sight of her so natural. He pulled her out of the elevator when they reached the top floor and made quick work of getting her out of the rest of the dress. He dragged his mouth across her thigh, the little freckles there looking like the same pattern on young does.

At some point, his antlers sprang from his head, creaking slightly like branches over them, and when she sprang to his boudoir, he didn’t know how she would respond to his coming up from behind her, grabbing her waist and pressing in tight and close where she could feel the bulge in his pants. 

He didn’t think she would moan and raise her tail to him, inviting him inside.

It wasn’t the only way they would have one another that night, but it was the most intense. The most instinctive, the best and only way he could imagine fucking in this form of his that he had gained. They didn’t speak, not even each other’s names, and yet he felt like he had known her for eternity before that, and that she wasn’t some mysterious woman that had just happened to fall into his life.

They didn’t even kiss until that first round was over, when she was gasping and clutching at the covers of his four-post bed, and he had nuzzled her face until it met his.

“I think,” she said softly, sometime quite a while later, her head on his chest, gold hair now free and messy all over his sheets, “we might have a position available for you.”

“Only one?” he teased as he rolled her onto her back and came back down to kissing her neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Seasons were a little bit funny in Hell, Alastor quickly noticed upon his arrival only about a century before. There wasn’t a logic to them, like there was on Earth. Some circles didn’t even have seasons at all; it was dark all the time, or fire, or chaos in the deepest and most unsettling sense of the word, one that didn’t have to do with outside stimuli so much as utter mental unrest.

That circle was fun to visit sometimes, when he lacked inspiration for his radio show.

But here, in Pentagram City, where there was at least one unit of measure - 365 days, the timeframe between purges - there were seasons, but everyone’s perception was different. And the most powerful beings were the ones who pushed the clock along.

So, around the Radio Tower, it was simple: springs were stormy but temperate, summers were sweltering, the falls came like a pat on the head and winter was soft and mild. 

Although, as Alastor began to spend more time with Charlie, there were some changes. To the colors, for sure: blossoms bright, gold leaves, and snow.

Alastor had never seen snow in person. Travelling wasn’t really a part of his wheelhouse, all those years ago. When Charlie stood on the balcony of the tower and watched the crystals fall from the red sky, Alastor came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He knew she had heard him coming, from the way her ears had swiveled, her tail flicking.

“What’s all this, then?”

She turned her little impish smile to him. “I need a white Christmas, Al.”

“Careful, I think that word is banned in many neighborhoods around here.”

Giggling, she moved in his arms until she was facing him. The snow lighted in her hair, thick, sticking. When it touched Alastor, the flakes immediately melted. “I like breaking rules,” she whispered, and kissed him.

And oh, Charlie, his Charlie, she loved her holidays. Having been born in Hell, she only knew as much as the humans had shared, so any religious connotations were completely lost on her. Everyone received cards on Valentine’s Day, eggs and greens on Easter, and for May Day...oh, that was a day where she refused to leave his bed from the middle of the night until midnight of the next. 

Mardi Gras, though...their powers combined created the most glorious celebration that Pentagram City ever had to tolerate. Charlie brought out her black, red-eyed horses that were trotted through the streets among all number of living parade floats. Alastor cooked huge, bubbling vats of crawfish, crabs, oysters and shrimp, the creatures bloated with magic so they were easily the size of chickens. The city didn’t sleep for days, the bacchanalia reaching far and wide that when it was over, everything was deathly silent as everyone - even the most powerful lords - had to recover.

But Alastor wasn’t a fan of all holidays.

Which was why, when the air began to cool, he walked past Mimzy’s only to be assaulted by the sound of accordion music and stomping. His smile remained, but it strained, teeth bared like breaks in a glass plate. Against his usually superior yet eternally questionable judgement, he walked inside. The air was thick with the smell of cooked meat and hops, and dubbing steins were being clacked together with so much force that he had to make a protective bubble around himself so it wouldn’t get on his clothing. 

“Mim, what is this?” he asked as he wandered up to the bar. All the best wines and spirits had been replaced with huge kegs of beer, and Mimzy was filling up cup after cup after cup.

“Honey, I am too tired for rhetorical questions. Cut to the chase.” Mimzy had gotten a bit more worn over time, as Charlie and Alastor got closer. Every event imaginable took place in her club: recitals, concerts, festivals, contests...all because she could never say no to her dear, old friend. The business and attention had been good, but to use the word ‘booming’ was as much an understatement as comparing a supernova with a firecracker.

And then someone had the audacity to yodel.

“Oktoberfest? Really? We already have All Hallow’s Eve, we can’t extend that?”

“You of all people are objecting to something as entertaining as this?” she asked, as the entire table she had just served the beer to howled  _ ‘Prost!’  _ and chugged it down to only foam. 

“Entertainment is one thing, Mimzy. This is noise. Where is the elegance, where is theatrics, where is the —”

“Guten Tag!”

Alastor turned to the voice and immediately forgot where exactly he was going with his line of thought. Charlie had just walked in, and someone’s yodeling choked off at the sight of her. The dirndl she was wearing took the original folksy spin and kicked it right in the ass, the skirt and apron short near her upper thigh. The artistry of her decolletage was not lost on him (let alone the ample bosom within), and her ears twitched with delight from either side of the braided crown she had styled her hair into. 

“Do you like it?” she asked, with a little twirl. Her tail was showing. As was a hint of something very frilly, very lacy beneath. 

If Alastor still had blood pressure, he would be in very, very deep trouble.

“My darling, you are an absolute treasure!” He avoided Mimzy’s shit-eating grin as he circled her, fingertips stroking at the seams of the knitted thigh-high white stockings that went with the ensemble. 

“When Mimzy mentioned it was going to be busy, I thought it would be fun to help! I didn’t think you’d be here. I was going to surprise you afterward.” The naughty smile on her face would surely be the death of him. Again. The second death of him. It would happen one way or another.

“I would not miss it for the world.”

Much to Alastor’s displeasure, however, Charlie wanted him in the usual private booth with the other Overlords, and it was only because he would never dream of making her unhappy that he did it without complaint. One after the other, she made her rounds, filling and refilling and leading them to cheer and toast. 

Alastor even sipped some beer.  _ A  _ beer, uninterested in the current drinking contest going on between Vox and Valentino, whose face was going as red as his attire. He took the opportunity to pull Charlie into his lap. “So,” he starts with a little cajun drawl. “What is a beautiful little milkmaid like you doing in a raucous establishment like this?”

“Oh, this and that,” she replied, not missing a beat. “I was trying to do my job, but some men here like to get handsy.”

“Point me to the scoundrels, my dear, I’ll have at all of them! Ha!” He reached up to tuck back a piece of hair that had come loose from her thick braid. His other hand was rather unabashedly stroking the line of her tail. “We should get you somewhere you don’t have to worry about all these terrible men.”

“Should we? You still have almost an entire stein of beer. Can’t let it go to waste.”

Now Alastor’s smile fell a bit. The thought of drinking all that threatened to turn his stomach. He was about to just magic it away when Charlie reached out and took the mug in one hand, upending it. She opened her throat, and Alastor watched as she drank every drop without pause.

“That takes care of that,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He could have taken her back to the tower after that. It wasn’t like it wouldn’t have been just fine and right, a satisfying conclusion to an evening. But no. Alastor, because the Oktoberfest had missed the theatrics that he so loved, continued the charade all the way to Charlie’s stables, to the soft hay there that she kept for her demonic steeds. He pushed her down into it and pursued her with all the energy of a young man in an illicit affair, and she laughed, delighted.

“Be honest,” he commanded through his smile. “You knew I would be coming. You wouldn’t have worn these,” he pauses, leaning in to remove the lacy panties with his mouth, nearly tearing them as he pulled them down her endless legs, “for anyone else, would you?”

She grinned up at him, silently, as though in thought.

“Would you have?” he prompted again.

“Hmm...I’m not sure…”

“Oh, you.” He descended on her in all his largeness, opening up his shirt and pants even as she remained otherwise dressed in her low-cut, high-waisted little costume, a few pieces of heather sticking in her hair. “As if the answer could ever deter me from having you, my doe,” he murmured, as he slid between her pale thighs and into her, and she held him through the rest of that Hell-autumn night.


End file.
